Memory
by Gemakai
Summary: Long after the events in FFT, an Old man goes to visit a ruined church. Who is he? R&R, won't you? My first FFT fic


Memory  
  
Disclaimer: As I walked through the woods, while I'm picking up sticks, I look into my stuff and realize I don't own FFTactics.  
  
The carriage moved down the streets of the fallen kingdom of Zeltennia. Ever since King Delita and Queen Ovelia were murdered, everything seemed to just fall rapidly to dust. There were no nobles left to come and take the throne, so no new war had begun for it. Most of Zeltennia was now in ruin and crawling with thieves.  
  
"Nice place, isn't it?" The cab driver commented.  
  
"Not really." His rider replied coldly, while staring out the window. The snow came down softly, but in a sad sort of way. The past few winters for the rider seemed to be more miserable than they usually were.  
  
"It was a joke, sir."  
  
"Stop here." He ordered, and the carriage driver pulled on the reins halting the chocobos pulling the carriage. The rider climbed out of the cab, his blond hair had strands of white in it showing his old age. The harsh cold wind brushed against his dried-out skin.  
  
"Are you certain this is the right place, sir?" the driver said, looking at the massive ruins that were once the Zeltennia church.  
  
"Two close friends of mine died here, a long time ago." The old man walked forward, leaning on his staff for support. "You can stay in the cab." He said before entering the ruins.  
  
"Thank you, sir!" And the driver proceeded in locking himself inside the cab.  
  
* * *  
  
The old man wandered far into the ruins, looking at the homeless who sat here and there but all miserable. He walked down one crumbling hall and spotted a thief sitting on the side of the hall, grinning.  
  
As the old man passed him, the thief stood holding a mistletoe plant overhead, "Ho! Ho! Ho! friend. How about a little Christmas Gil?" The old man ignored him and thief raised hand to strike the old wanderer from behind. But his attack was cut short for the old man pushed him back a good five feet with one arm. Whoever this old man was, it was certain that he was strong. The thief stared wide-eyed at the old man and made a hasty retreat. The old man glared at the thief, until he was out of sight and then he continued forward.  
  
Finally, the old man came to the alter of the church, reach into his cloak and pulled out two roses. He placed them before the alter and whispered, "I'm here, Delita. I'm here, Ovelia." He closed his eyes and bowed his head in a silence to pray. As he stood there, he heard small steps come up behind him. He thrust his staff behind him and then he swung it, striking the same thief from before twice. He was holding a knife now, but that didn't bother the old man a bit. He charged forward as though his feet weren't even touching the ground, and he pushed the thief back against a wall. He stepped back and swatted the knife out of the thief's hand. The thief scrambled to get his knife again, but he felt a pressure against his forehead as the old man pressed the end of his staff to it. He pushed the thief's head against the wall, and added a little more force to the press. The thief panicked at the thought of his skull bursting into pieces, but his thoughts were interrupted as the old man said,  
  
"Get out!"  
  
And lifted his staff. The thief hurried out the room, in response, more frightened than he had ever been in his life.  
  
* * *  
  
The old man came out of the ruin and knocked on the carriage window to wake the sleeping cab driver. The driver opened the door, letting the old man in, and sat himself on the driver seat.  
  
"Take me back to Igros, I promised my sister that I'd be back soon."  
  
"Sure thing, sir." The driver whipped the reins and the Chocobos were off. "Um, sir? I was just wondering, but what is your name?"  
  
The old man switched his gaze from outside the window to the driver. After a long silence, he finally answered, "Ramza, it's a common name."  
  
"Not to my ears, sir."  
  
"You sure? I know many Ramzas myself. One was the Ramza the noble who everyone believed to be an anarchist. There's also Ramza the Mercenary who wanted to be a hero and save the princess sort of thing. And lastly there was Ramza the knight who fought for what he believed in."  
  
"Which Ramza are you sir?"  
  
Ramza looked back out the window, "Me? I'm Ramza the commoner, who only wants to live in peace."  
  
"Don't we all want that, sir? Don't we all."  
  
"And it will come. And when it does, I can die happily." Then Ramza dozed off to sleep. Even though he was one of the most skilled warriors in all of Ivalice, he was still an old tired man.  
  
* *  
  
Gemakai- Well, there you are. My first FFT fic. R&R, please. 


End file.
